


an uneventful subject

by asexuelf



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Fenbela-centric, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Multi, No Smut, Polyamory, Polyshipping Day, Sex, Title from a Florence + the Machine Song, but yes sex..., i hope that makes sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24487816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/asexuelf
Summary: Fenris' first year as Isabela's lover, as told through their growing relationship.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris/Isabela/Merrill (Dragon Age), Fenris/Isabela (Dragon Age)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 14





	an uneventful subject

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully this fic is coherent as a standalone, because it's 5 a.m. and i want to post it NOW! i may add onto it at a later date as a series, but for now, have some fenbela-centric polycule fic.
> 
> hope you enjoy! 💖

It's been a happy few months.

Fenris still hasn't stopped feeling surprised. He's been in a low-level state of confusion, trying to push down his doubts as quickly as they appear, but even he's not that good at ignoring it. All this happiness just seems… out of place. It isn't meant to be here, warm in his chest like a glowing star. He's _him._ That place is reserved for pain only. That place is reserved for heartache.

And yet… Snoring so gently he can barely hear her over the Hanged Man's bustle, Isabela lies next to him, her skin cool against his. She's facing away, her back pressed close to his arm, pressing closer when she breathes in.

Fenris is happy.

Fenris is _happy_ and it shocks him terribly and leaves him confused and cautious and a little angrier than he wants to be. Was it so simple? Freedom, a place to stay, a body beside his?

Perhaps that's an over-simplification. He wouldn't know. He's so unpracticed at this, it's almost laughable. When it began, he assumed his warm disposition had been affected the most by the frequent sex, and less by the company. Now…

Isabela mumbles a wordless protest - some meaningless grumble bleeding into this world from the Fade. It's adorable. It makes his heart beat strangely, his lungs take an entirely new shape.

Now, looking at her sweetly sleeping round face, he isn't so sure.

He throws an arm over Isabela's side, buries his nose into the dark, sea-spray-scented curls splayed out behind her. He stuffs all his thoughts down deep. 

_This happiness is not set to last anyways,_ he thinks, and is comforted at least by the cold truth of it. He need not question this happiness at all - by the time he's found his answer, it will be as dust in the wind. For now, he need only hold onto it.

-

Another month passes. A month after that. Nearly six months of fucking which turns into kissing which turns into going on dates-that-aren't. Six months of taking Isabela's hand in his and waiting for her to pull away.

Six months and he's _still happy_.

Not all the time, no, but happiness, he's learned, is a quiet thing, thrumming softly beneath rage and sadness and fear where before it had been reversed. _Happiness_ is no longer this fraught thing held too-tightly between stumbling fingers. Now it stays, frequent and reassuring, and he fights not to push it away for the fear of it alone.

It's still strange, but he's getting better at it. 

Isabela's pinky is hooked in his as they walk, swinging their arms between them. At the beginning, they were teased by their friends - Aveline pointing and giggling girlishly at Isabela for being "soft" and Varric nearly choking at 'Broody' being an affectionate sort. Now, no one is phased by their display.

Except for, surprisingly, the witch.

Her wide green eyes slide to the side as she walks, her head turned slightly (and obviously) to steal glances at them. Fenris isn't sure if she's trying to be sneaky or not, but if she is, she'll not be making her name as an assassin anytime soon. The disciplines of a rogue are… not her forte.

"Kitten?" Bela calls to her, smiling when Merrill startles so badly her staff nearly scrapes the ground. Even Fenris can admit that those blinking wide eyes and blushing ears are endearing.

"Sorry!" she squeaks. "I mean, yes, Isabela?"

The smile grows a little teasing, a flash of teeth behind painted lips. Despite the nickname she gave the witch, her own features are far more cat-like. "Can we do something for you? You seem very… interested, suddenly. Is there something on my face? His face?"

Fenris wipes at his mouth, just to make Merrill blush more.

It works. Merrill's face grows only redder, making her vallaslin stand out somehow more strongly than usual. The shapes are fascinating and beautiful, curling over his brow and under her lip, and he does not look at them. 

"Um. No! No, nothing on your-" She swallows, licking her lips so aggressively that some of the rouge rubs away. "I mean- You're quite handsome together, is all. I can't help but stare. Is- Is that strange to say? I hope it isn't strange."

"It's a little strange," Fenris says.

"Hush." Isabela takes her hand back to elbow him, making him grin. "She's being sweet. You can be too, you know. Might not even kill you."

"I don't take chances."

"You sleep in a dusty mansion your ex-master could return to at any moment-" She points out. "When you _could_ be sleeping with me."

"I sleep with you frequently."

Merrill blinks owlishly. "Your bed at the Hanged Man isn't big enough for both of you, is it?"

Positively delighted, Isabela giggles. "Is _your_ bed big enough?"

"It could fit all three of us if we tried." But then she clams up, looking suddenly shocked and embarrassed, and runs away to catch up with Hawke.

"Huh." Isabela hooks her fingers with Fenris' again, a thoughtful look on her face. Her eyes meet his and he knows too well what she's thinking. "Well? What do you say?"

Isabela had a point, about the mansion - Fenris does have a habit of taking chances. Especially when those chances are sweet-natured and slightly dishonest with very pretty eyes.

He tells her yes.

-

It's been a happy few months.

For some reason, he thought it would be simpler. When one threesome turned into two, then into ten, and suddenly their trips to the theatre or to dinner had an extra guest, Fenris thought it would be as easy as his relationship with Isabela. It certainly started out that way - sex into stolen kisses into whispered words into everyday moments shared.

It was supposed to be _simple_. Merrill would join their relationship and it would be like shredding cheese over meat and rice, a perfect addition to something already lovely. Instead, it's more like taking the whole meal apart and attempting to make something entirely new with the pieces.

Before, it was simple; he and Isabela didn't discuss their relationship. It existed. Those moments stolen and shared between them were many - and they were easy. Touching, kissing, fucking, sharing meals and visiting shops… None of it involved much talking. It was easy to keep the words to themselves, to let other people put it together and just be the two of them as they were.

Now that they make three… He and Isabela have had to wholly redefine (or more accurately, begin to define) their relationship.

"The three of us are partners," Merrill says smilingly over a shared bowl of potato and nug soup. It had been Fenris', but now it seems to be Isabela's and Merrill's as well. "It seems easy. I love both of you, you both love me, you love each other! Why complicate things?"

 _Oh, amata,_ Fenris nearly sighs. If she only knew.

Love, to people like Fenris and Isabela, is not so easy a word. And he has a growing suspicion that it isn't so easy for Merrill, either, given the almost aggressive way it floats off her tongue.

Danarius, Luis, Marethari… They all have people for whom love was a weapon. She might as well have passed around a dagger and said, "Everyone cuts the skin and draws blood! What's so hard about that?"

 _Why complicate things,_ indeed. As if she herself was not the wrench that made the cogs turn.

Still, he leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead before Isabela can beat him to it. "Wise words, _amata_."

As she preens, Isabela catches his eye knowingly. "Yes, very wise, Kitten. What would we do without you?"

"Whatever you were doing before, I imagine!" Her cheeks grows warm beneath Fenris lips, and she hums when those lips travel down her jaw, down her throat. "Oh, how friendly. Was what I said dirty?"

Isabela shrugs - a movement Fenris can only discern for her jewelry clinking together. "No dirtier than anything we do with you."

Fenris snorts. He laves a hot lick over his witch's collarbone.

"So quite dirty then," Merrill breathes.

"Quite."

-

The days pass in bliss, turning so fluidly to weeks and weeks and weeks that it's hard to remember that months have passed. So much has happened in such a short time, yet Fenris finds himself shocked to think of just how many days have truly passed.

"Started in the summer holidays," Isabela supplies. The sounds of her boots hitting the floor is familiar, now, and he recognizes it even with her at his back. "And still going strong. Why do you ask, sweet thing?"

"Is it so strange to ask how long my bed partners had been shagging before they started shagging me?"

"Er," Fenris shrugs. Merrill's head is between his legs and he has his attention on other things. "It's not something we tend to talk about."

"And - what? You're both making weird faces. Do you not even talk about it with each other?" Anders' back is against the headboard of their growingly too-small bed, his legs spread and his cock standing proud between them. "You three are a blighted mess."

"Perhaps so," Fenris concedes.

"Hgahghh," Merrill says around his own cock. When she rises off him, he grunts, and not entirely for her teeth grazing him. "That's not fair! We talk much better than we used to. Them especially - they've improved a lot!"

Anders snorts derisively. Something protective jumps in Fenris' chest, but he consigns himself to burying his hand in Merrill's hair instead of snapping to her defense. He _did_ make a promise of civility. Granted, that promise is easier to keep when the mage is naked and laughing and not goading him into arguments.

The mattress dips behind him as Isabela kneels on the bed, her sigh tickling his neck. "Can't we do this _after_ we have sex?" Fenris is thinking much the same.

"We have sex all the time now!" Anders points out. Fenris isn't sure _thrice a week_ is all the time, but Anders seems passionate. "And we don't talk about it before _or_ after. It just happens and then I go home. I figured you lot talked about it amongst yourselves, but apparently I'm not just out of the loop."

Fenris bites his lip. The mage has a point. But- What's wrong with the current system? He's been _happy_ \- and when you're happy, you don't question a good thing. At least Merrill had the good manners to wait three months into their growingly-less-casual sex before dropping the L-word. If Anders makes any sweeping declarations of affection, Fenris is walking out, clothes be damned.

Still on her knees, Merrill leans her head against his softening penis with a sad sigh. "We're not good at communicating," she admits, making Fenris sigh too.

"I've noticed."

"We've no reason to," Fenris argues. Anders gives him a bewildered look, but he shakes his head. "No. It's a good thing. This is a _good_ thing. Why ruin it with expectation?"

"Expecta…" Anders' face grows no less confused, though he looks a bit cornered - definitely a welcome addition on his usually smug face. "I- Suppose I can see that. But if we don't all know what we're getting, if we don't all know what can't be taken from each other, how will we stop from hurting one another?"

The room grows very awkward very quickly. The sounds of Hightown leak through the crumbling mansion walls.

"Er-" Isabela looks at the door, then at Fenris. He shrugs unhelpfully. If she wants to leave, he's hardly about to stop her.

Merrill pulls away and stands, turning to face Anders and meet his eyes earnestly. "You're right, of course. I'm sorry, Anders. What do _you_ want? What are _your_ boundaries?"

The room grows even more awkward. Anders looks like a startled deer, all gangly limbs and too-long hair. His cock is soft now too, lying against his freckled thigh. "Uh…"

Fenris chokes down a laugh. "All that and _you_ can't communicate? Hypocrite."

"I never said I was _above_ you three!"

Unlike Fenris, Isabela throws back her head and laughs. "You should be! Or under, at least. It's what we're here for."

"And-" Merrill catches Fenris' eye, her gaze searching. Asking permission. He nods his consent. "And if you want to stay after, we like to cook breakfast together."

Anders stares at her a moment - then he smiles.

-

The next morning is a beautiful disaster. 

They burn three eggs, which Anders and Fenris argue over eating, because of course the mage has to be their righteous hero and take one for the team when Fenris doesn't even mind the taste of burnt.

Isabela giggles through the entire exchange, especially when Merrill begins to lose her patience with them. The furrow to his witch's brow is adorable, he admits, and he begs her forgiveness with a gentle kiss to the wrinkle in her forehead. Squinting her pretty eyes at him, she steals the spatula and divvies out half the burnt eggs to either man. That sets Isabela howling. What exactly is so funny, Fenris doesn't know, but he finds himself grinning despite himself.

They make bacon too, which Fenris asks a piece of only to feed it to Isabela, and the stench of it clings to the room long after they've begun eating. It's a putrid smell to him, completely awful, but when Isabela pulls him into her lap and opens her mouth to be fed, he can't find it in himself to care. The smell will fade, after all, and Isabela's lap is warm and her lips soft.

They all talk too loud for squatters in a stolen mansion, but Fenris is smiling wider than he knew he could. When Anders' eyes meet his, the mage looks bewildered, like he's witnessed the impossible. And in a way, he is, Fenris supposes. Only less than a year ago, he thought this was impossible too. He thought a joy like this could never last.

It lasts. Anders stays 'til lunch.

-

It's been a year of loving Isabela. _A year._ He almost can't believe it.

A year passes so quickly in Kirkwall, running towards one disaster to the next, that it almost doesn't register when summer begins to blow through again, all humid storms and sticky fog. It had been the night of Summerday celebrations that they'd first fallen into bed together, and as it approaches, he teases her, asking if she wants roses or harlot's blush for their anniversary.

The way her face had changed surprises him even now.

"You know our anniversary?"

He blinked in surprise, taken aback by her unusually wavering tone. Had he ever heard her sound so small, so delicate? "Yes," he said. He was surprised his voice was louder than a whisper. "To be fair, the holiday makes it much easier to remember."

She'd smiled, all shining eyes and brighter grin, before shaking her head. "An anniversary is just an excuse. We don't need an excuse, Fenris. We can spoil each other any day that we want to."

Now it was his turn to feel small. He couldn't help whatever his face did, nor the tenderness of his voice. "Can we?"

His crooked grin was met with a bitten lip, her eyes averted in an uncharacteristically shy move. "If you like," she said.

He does. He likes it very much. So, the day of their anniversary, he buys her both roses _and_ harlot's blush, just for certainty, and a floppy, feathered hat she'd been eyeing. It's an awful hat, bright seafoam green in that horrible shade the Hightown nobles found themselves taken with.

She loves it. Oh, her smile when she'd put it on - and whipped a book out from behind her back. He hadn't even bothered to look at the title before he was kissing her.

Their mages leave them to each other that night without needing to be asked.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 💖


End file.
